A Thanksgiving Poem For You

This week I offer you a Thanksgiving poem. Try reading slowly, out loud.

The Messengerby Mary Oliver
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird — equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect?
Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium. The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes, a mouth with which to give shouts of joy to the moth
and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam, telling them all,
over and over, how it is that we live forever.

When you keep your mind on what matters, what matters to you? When you are still, what do you find astonishing?
Wishing you all the richness of living fully–the joys, the sorrows, the delights, the losses. For the heights of one cannot exist without the depths of the other.
Sending the blessings of gratitude from my heart to yours,